


Mollcroft RP

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 12,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr is acting up and not letting us re-blog so we have moved our RP to AO3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Tom

Mousy-miss-Molly:

 

It had been nearly three months since her broken engagement with Tom and she was just barely making due with her frustrations. Yes, she always had Toby and work (cutting open bodies always does the trick sometimes!) but lately none of that was just doing it for her. Something itched at the back of her mind that made her fall into a deep haze during her hours at St. Barts or walking home to her feline companion. 

Could it be loneliness? She was breaking in her big double 3’s and she had been engaged then disengaged in less than a year of being with someone. Not to mention her only other actual love interest was a sociopath he only used his charms on her to receive special treatment in her lab.

Yes, she was tasting the bitterness of a cold bedside for two and watched as every valentines day or Christmas, her coworkers each surprised one another or their partners with romantic getaways and it nearly sickened her to go home alone and make dinner for one then fall onto the couch and watch holiday specials alone. It wasn’t anything new, it was just tiring. And although she and Tom remained good friends and he frequented her often, she still hated every second of losing the opportunity at something that would amount to an actual content life. 

But now, her focus lied on the clock that ticked loudly into her ears that sat at her desk of which she was promoted to not too long ago. The head of her research department. The pay was more than wonderful and the job itself was simple but needless to say, it bored her tremendously to have to double her usual research reports and have to take them home to finish them. Papers and essays were easy and she was on the brink of publishing her second medical journal however, the day just did not call for her focus on the documentary. It was gloomy out, nearly rain fall and she was itching to stop by the lovely Belgian Cafe that lied just at the corner across from Barts. She would pick up a lovely rose and passion tea with cream with perhaps a sweet to take home then pop in an old time movie at home with Toby beside her while the rain fell on her window pane.

However, those dreams soon came to an end when, although the clock struck 5 and that was her cue to leave, a knock came to her door and caused a small, unavoidable groan to escape her lips as she forced herself to turn and greet the stranger at the door,


	2. In the morgue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is trying to leave work ... But suddenly she has visitors.

anoblemansdebut:  
Simon walked with a bit of a stumble, he hated morning like everyone else his did not agree with him working the holiday” hi i am looking for a Molly hopper i was told there was a body with strange markings”

Mousy-miss-Molly:  
Molly leaned against her desk, arms tucked under her breast and a weary and almost impatient look growing on her face as her brow arched. “You’re quite late for an inspector. We’re just about to close the morgue. If you’d like, you can come visit some time tomorrow?” She suggested- well, more like she demanded- as her wearying bones and aching muscles caught up with her fatigue and hazy mind.

"Besides, I’d need to see a warrant."

 

wetislandinthenorthatlantic:

"Ah. Mr Noble how curious that you are found here." Mycroft Holmes had appeared silently behind Simon. Mycroft had wanted to see Molly alone and hadn’t bothered to check the CCTV cameras since it was so late on the day.

"Have you any leads in the Mickelson case Simon?" Mycroft asked. The small talk,although desperately pedestrian, allowed Mycroft to watch Molly. Mycroft was trying to ascertain just exactly what Molly knew about the events of last weekend.

 

Mousy-miss-Molly:  
Molly shut her eyes as the familiar and rather irritating voice of Mycroft Holmes rang through her office. She lifted a hand to rub her neck gently then eyed the government official with a weary smile. “Looks like a party. Should I be expecting your brother, Mr.Holmes?’

She pushed herself away from her desk and pulled her lab coat off her shoulders, switching glances between both males in her office. “I’m sorry for you two but the lab is closed and I must close up for the night. If you would please.”


	3. An Interesting Proposal

wetislandinthenorthatlantic:  
"No, my brother is safely ensconced in Baker Street at the moment," Mycroft gave a Molly a weak smile.

He turned his attention to Simon. “I can see Miss Hooper is dreadfully exhausted and ready for her work day to finish. Perhaps you will find something tomorrow.”

Mycroft glanced over at Molly. She really did look dreadful. Mycroft hoped it was only due to long hours at work and not something else.

"Given your current state Miss Hooper might I suggest you join me at Belgian Cafe. My brother would never forgive me if I let you go home like this. Simon, if your schedule permits you are welcome to join us."

Mycroft continued to watch Molly intently as he held the morgue door open.

 

Mousy-miss-Molly:  
Molly gave a small, half smile to Mycroft, folding her lab coat over her arms while she stepped around him to exit the door. “Thank you, Mr.Holmes. But I do have to ask what on earth it is you need me for at such a time of night?” 

Once she was out of her office and beside the government official, she turned swiftly on her heels and faced her door, locking it and checking the handle to assure the security, almost as though to buy her some time before she had to disappear who knows where with the most powerful man in London. Although, it was not something out of the ordinary, but today was just not the day to force her around like a rag doll.


	4. Plans change ...

wetislandinthenorthatlantic:  
Mycroft watched as Molly fiddled with the door to her office. She was nervous. Four months ago her surveillance level had been raised and so the elder Holmes brother was well aware of her Office Closing procedures and this wasn’t standard.  

“Come now Miss Hooper I don’t want to embarrass you by highlighting that the only thing that waits for you this evening, if you choose to be bothered to cook for one – which by the mere fact you have lost 3.5 pounds in the last month is unlikely at best, is your dinner on a tray in front of the telly. Even my company, such as it is, must better than that.” Mycroft gave Molly a small smile. “Fear not, my intentions are entirely honourable. As soon as you wish my car will spirit you home to your dog-eared Radio Times and cat.”

Mycroft was about to help Molly on with her coat when his phone beeped signalling a text arriving. Taking his mobile out of his breast pocket he looked at the screen and scowled.  
"I’m dreadfully sorry. There is something I must attend to urgently. My offer of a bit of company this evening still stands although it will be delayed. I’ll leave it with you. Just text and let me know where to meet you and when."

Mycroft turned and left before Molly could protest.

 

Mousy-miss-Molly:  
Molly stood there for a very, very long five minutes, contemplating whether or not she should move out of step yet or wait another five or ten minutes to pass. He could be watching her; counting her steps and never missing a beat. Any move she made could get her in trouble with him; very step or breath could be wrong and he’d be hurrying back to correct her. Perhaps not in that moment, but it would haunt them both (he was OCD, Sherlock claimed to her).

Her mind spun, unsure of her reaction to the entirety of the situation. She was furious, that was certain. Oh how furious she felt. His remark, how unnecessary! Followed by that stupid little smirk; something that might as well run in the Holmes Family as Sherlock seems to copy his brother like most siblings tend to do. She loathed that smirk; such superiority and triumph in it. It was sickening and just plain annoying.

Not to mention his distance. How close and impersonal he had been. How much she felt cornered, like a little mouse in a maze. Not that it was any different than any other situation with him. He was never one to keep distance when he needed information especially in a quaint place bustling with people daily (even dead ones). But perhaps that was all that annoyed her. Seeing him constantly in the same situations acting the same way. His usual three piece suit and strange cologne that could never seem to escape her scent until something just as powerful combated it enough to leave a bigger impression (which, to be honest, didn’t happen so often but if she was willing to admit, it helped with the stench of formaldehyde that lingered in the bodies he cut into daily). His proper school boy stance and slicked (yet clearly thinning) hair and his impatience tapping away through his foot.

Yes, Mycroft Holmes infuriated her to some terrible extent but something was settling about him in her mind that helped relax her shoulders around him and kept her moving to the exit once the butterflies in her stomach settled. She’d be lying if she said his remark wasn’t true. She had lost weight ever since Tom. Her appetite wasn’t as full any longer and she was alone, a point he made quite clear in the most hurtful way but she had to brush it off for the sake of her sanity. Being accompanied would have been nice, she thought, pulling the small, individual umbrella from her purse as she reached the end of the overhang that protected her from the rain that fell.

Once opened and shielding her (well, mostly her head) from the droplets that seemed to gain weight and speed, he jogged across the street to the cafe. With or without Mycroft Holmes, she was going to get her snack and tea and then go home and find the bloody camera he was using to watch her. Maybe then he’d stop reading her ever so clearly. Although, in some twisted aspect, it was just the tiniest bit charming how much he knew. But just a little.


	5. The Urgent Business

Mycroft's urgent business was easily sorted. Sherlock had requested additional "supplies" be brought to his flat. By the mere nature of the list it was obvious that Sherlock was still frolicking with that bridesmaid he was paired with at John's wedding. 

"Brother dear you seem distracted." Sherlock was rooting through the Waitrose bag. "Did you get the 9v battery?"

Mycroft was standing by the window watching raindrops run down the pane. "Humm. What did you say? Yes, yes. Bottom of the bag." Came the very lazy reply. 

The wind had now picked up and Mycroft knew the tiny, flimsy umbrella that Molly had purchased at Boots 17 days ago would be no match for this weather. His cameras told him she had gone to the cafe - eventually - after he had left. 

She had hesitated too much. He could see she was cautious--unsure of his motives. Unfortunately he felt the same way. 

Sherlock held up a can of pumpkin and beamed like he had won the lottery. "Well done! Just what we need! Does she know?"

Mycroft was brought back to reality by the question. "What do you mean by that?" He snapped. 

Sherlock was now unpacking the bag onto the table in the kitchen. "I mean does the woman in question know you have just spent the last 15 minutes thinking about her. Will she be silly enough to walk home in this weather? How long before her umbrella is destroyed? What if she catches a cold? Where is the nearest shop to buy her orange juice? Should you send over some cold tablets to her flat just in case or would that be ... too creepy even for you?" Sherlock's left eyebrow flicked up as a he glanced up at his brother. 

Mycroft swallowed hard. 

"I'll take that as a no." Sherlock held Mycroft's gaze. 

"I should go." Said Mycroft swiftly. 

"Why? She hasn't texted you yet. Isn't that how you left it? She would text if she wanted to see you."

Mycroft knew Sherlock was right but he would feel better if he had a quick look at the cameras to make sure she was still in the cafe and hadn't set off in the rain. Her being cold and wet was too painful to think about.

He also needed to check on Tom. Over the past couple of weeks reports of erratic behaviour had come in. 

"You have a busy night ahead of you." Mycroft's eyes flicked towards the bedroom door. 

Sherlock gave a non-committal shrug. 

Mycroft left Sherlock and walked down the stairs. Before he opened the door he pulled his coat around himself tighter to prepare for the short walk through the horrible weather to his warm car.


	6. In the Cafe

Mousy-miss-Molly:

 

Molly, after a tremendous tread and becoming soaked from the waist down, finally made it to the cafe's entrance and sped inside before the rain could gain any more velocity and strength. Inside, a blast of warmth nearly pushed back and the fresh scent of baked goods and chocolate made a rather distinct notion to her nose when she took in a deep breath. She smiled to herself, nearly giggling at the joy the small cafe brought her and she hastily shook her umbrella of a few stray droplets, slipped it into it's carrier and stepped into the small line of people, waiting to place their orders.

She looked up to the billboard menu and fiddled with her hair, nodding and shaking her head as she eliminated decisions from the menu and her mind. With every step forward and every order placed ahead of her, Molly felt rushed to decide and once she had reached the front of the line, she blanked for a moment and felt her cheeks redden a bit as she gave a nervous chuckle. The cashier gave her a tired smile and asked for her order, leaving Molly to tighten her braid as she stuttered out her order, her eyes glued to the billboard. "Just a Rose Petal tea with cream and sugar please. And a peche mignon" 

The waitress nodded slowly, tapping away at the screen of the register to total the amount for Molly's order then asked the pathologist what her payment would be. Molly set her bag down on the counter and dug through her clothes and binders and knicks, stating she'd be paying with card. That is, if she found the bloody thing.

After a few short minutes, Molly stepped aside so another customer could order at the register beside her, her hands becoming a little frantic as she couldn't retrieve her wallet from any crook or pocket in her obscurely large bag. She let a small sigh of frustration to escape her lips as she checked her pockets for cash at the least. That was moot point, she thought, considering she never really carried cash on hand unless she was traveling. With her reluctance growing, Molly scanned her eyes across the window outside, her shoulders dropping at the massive storm that had built up since she entered the cafe. 

"There's no way in hell I can make it to the office and back." She mumbled, returning her gaze to her bag before being summoned to the register.

"Ma'am" the clerk said in a soft, dreary voice. "It's been paid for. You can go wait by a table. It will be brought out to you."

Molly arched her brow, a bit surprised at who stood at the counter, holding their card out to the clerk to pay for her snack and tea.


	7. Greg to the rescue!

Wetislandinthenorthatlantic:

Greg Lestrade was giving Molly a cheeky smile as he handed over his card to pay for her order. 

"Hi Molls!" He said cheerily. "Don't worry. This one's on me. Lord knows you have helped me out enough times. Are you by yourself? Come and join me and Anthea. Our table is right over there."

Greg gestured to the back of the small cafe were Anthea sat tapping away on her phone. She looked up and gave Greg a smile and a small wave to Molly before turning her attention back to her phone. 

 

Mousy-miss-Molly:  
Molly looked over to Anthea and waved back slightly then turned her attention to Greg, sighing with relief. "Thanks a bunch. I nearly had a panic thinking I'd have to run back to the lab. Well, I mean, I still have to go over there, but not in this rain!"

She gave him a quick side hug and cheek kiss before pushing her way through a few warmer bodies to get to the corner where Anthea sat. Molly sat her bags on the windowsill and slipped her coat off, draping the soaked material over her chair before pulling the object out to sit down on. She then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table to support her chin as it rested on the top of her now laced hands.

"Anthea" she said softly with a smile, waiting to grab the woman's attention and laughing softly when the P.A. looked up in a slight daze, jumbled with orders and messages from Mycroft to his inferiors. "Hey there, I think you need to settle the phone down and take a breath"


	8. The Pickpocket

((37 Minutes Earlier ))

Mycroft opened the door to his car and found Anthea waiting I the back seat -- her one free hand waiting palm up, with the other hand she was tapping on her Blackburry. As he settled into the car Anthea looked up from her Blackberry and stared down her nose at him. 

Mycroft flashed her an innocent look, "What?"

Anthea continued to stare, "Give."

Mycroft soon realised he was not going to win this battle. He rolled his eyes, and sighed as he put his hand into his jacket and pulled out Molly's pocketbook. With a huff he put it into Anthea's hand. "You're good."

"You're transparent."

They sat in silence for a while. The only sound was Anthea's non-stop tapping. 

Finally she stopped and put her Blackberry into her purse. 

"Look. I know you are conflicted. She is quite possibly ... okay .... more than likely .... still in danger but if you scare her it will be all over." 

Why did it always feel like being scolded by a headmistress when Anthea yelled at him Mycroft wondered. He hated that she was correct. 

The car came to a stop outside of New Scotland Yard. 

"Tell you what. Greg and I are going out tonight before the theatre. I'll make sure we run into her and I'll return her pocketbook." Anthea was organising herself to get out into the horrible weather "Let her make the next move."

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest. 

"No. You know I am right. You can't control both sides of a relationship. No matter how much you want to." With this Anthea got out of the car. 

 

* * *   
((In the cafe))

"Last one. I promise," Anthea replied as she tapped away. 

SMS: She is here. She is wet. She is fine. Go home. -A

Anthea didn't wait for a reply. Smiling she turned her Blackberry off with a flourish making sure Molly could see the screen was dark. 

"Finally! Work is done!" Anthea sighed. "It has been such a long day! How was your day Molly?" 

Anthea looked up to see Greg manuvering through the crowded tables with a tray full of their teas and cakes. She moved her chair closer to Molly to make more room for Greg. As she was reaching under the table to move her purse she used this opportunity to slip Molly's pocketbook into her coat. 

Molly didn't notice a thing.


	9. Chapter 9

Mousy-miss-Molly:

Molly jumped a bit at Anthea's enthusiasm and gave her a gentle laugh, scooting over to give each other person some elbow room. 

"Fine, fine. I can't imagine my day was as long and tedious as yours. A few heart attacks here and there and a beheading which is a little rare. I'm a bit surprised Sherlock hadn't appeared." 

She paused and fully turned to face Anthea, resting her chin against her palm, her elbow propped up to holdher head's weight. "Oh, and I ran into your boss today actually. We were supposed to speak about some business he had for me then he disappeared. I imagine it was you who kept him off my tail?"

As she let the question linger, she turned to Greg with a thankful smile and took her tea from his hands, nodding graciously. 

"Thank you again Greg. You saved me yet again." she managed to say before placing the drink's entrance to her lips and taking a long sip. She basked in the warmth as it raced through her body, helping her to relax herself and lean comfortably against her soaked coat. She felt her tensed muscles and aching pains reside a bit and her mind settled enough to return her attention to Anthea once again.

 

Wetislandinthenorthatlantic:

 

Anthea watched as Molly drank her tea and relaxed. 

If only Molly knew how much work it was to keep Mycroft away from her at the moment. 

Anthea liked Molly. She had always been impressed by her kind heart and loyalness -- both traits Mycroft would benefit from having bestowed upon him more frequently. Perhaps it would ever-so-slightly soften his razor sharp edges. Molly was smart as a whip and wasn't afraid to stand up for herself -- again qualities her boss needed in a companion. He discarded high-maintenance, "yes" women as quick as they arrived. 

At present Anthea's job of running interference between Mycroft and Molly would be made significantly easier if, "Mr I'm-In-Charge-of-Everything" would figure out just exactly he wanted with Miss Hooper. 

Anthea had learned over the years that there is a fine line between protecting and seducing. And neither worked unless you knew which one was happening. 

In response to Molly, Anthra shrugged her shoulders. "My days are mostly the same. Who HE shouts at is the only thing that changes!" 

"Thanks but I can't take credit for calling him away earlier. Sherlock needed him," Anthea was sipping her tea and absent-mindedly playing with the saucer. "He is on his way home now."


	10. Chapter 10

Mousy-miss-Molly:

Molly kept a watchful eye on Anthea, mostly her hands, nodding slowly at her response before reaching for her fork and wiping it down with a moist towelette then a napkin. "He seems like a handful, just like his brother. I still can't believe they're related but part of me says it's obvious."

Once her fork was rid of spots and dish soap marks, Molly took a slow stab at her pastry, her eyes still wandering around Anthea's figure and body language. She was pretty, no doubt about that. And very elegant. She stood tall and gave a firm, commanding hand. And despite her clear obsession with her phone, she still managed to keep her attention where it needed to be, lent a helping hand to whoever it was needed it, and most probably kept Mycroft Holmes in check at all times. She was definitely perfect, in Molly's eyes, and gave Molly a mode of confidence that Mr. Boss Man wouldn't be bothering her any time soon.

"It's mostly in their attitude though. Their features aren't too similar but their drive and intellect, that's what keeps them related for me. Not to mention their desperate attempts at dehumanizing themselves but honestly, they're as transparent as I am. They're both alone and both need a firm hand to keep them from falling into their void of a mind. I have Sherlock on lock but sometimes, I wish I could Mycroft." She looked to Anthea's eyes before lifting her slice of pastry into her mouth and slowly chewing it for a moment.

"But that's what he has you for. You keep him down to Earth and we're all grateful for that. Imagine him without you, Anthea. He'd be running a muck around here. I'd be on constant watch and he'd be coming into my work just to annoy me. I see him more often than not nowadays which is so strange. After the whole Sherlock faking his death thing, I was sure he'd keep me off his radar. I wish he'd just tell me what he needed. He always has a vacant stare around me and it's becoming cruel. Like a lost child or puppy." Molly let out a soft sigh and took a few more bites of her peche mignon before settling her fork down to take in some more tea.

"Though, he's more like a wolf pup than an ordinary house pup." She gave a side smirk at Anthea and Greg's little giggle then settled back comfortably into her seat.


	11. Chapter 11

Wetislandinthenorthatlantic:

Greg had been sitting quietly observing the two women while drinking his tea. He hadn't protested when Anthra announced this cafe is where she wanted to go before the theatre. Greg knew her well enough that somewhere this out of their way meant there were alterior motives. 

Finding Molly in the cafe was a bit of a shock but as soon as he saw her Greg knew she was why they were here. 

He watched Molly as the two women chatted. Something was not right. It had been three months since Molly and Tom broke up. She had lost weight and there was now a near-constant underlying level of anxiety about her. Both Greg and Anthea had seen Molly through various break-ups and this hadn't ever happened before. 

"Seriously, Mycroft I get," chimed in Greg. "He is THE Alpha Male. He wants to protect everyone. Control every situation so no one he cares for gets hurt. And that includes himself. Problem is that guy has too much power."

Greg took a gulp of tea and continued. 

"See. Let's say I found out Sally's boyfriend wasn't treating her right. I would do whatever I could in my power to fix it. And if that includes raiding his house late one night and finding narcotics," Greg raised both hands and shrugged while winking, "-- well -- so be it. Mycroft would do exactly the same. Except use the SAS to throw the guy in front of a Tube train or have him put on the terrorism watch list."

Anthea looked at Greg and tried not to giggle. 

Greg suddenly looked worried. "Shit. I really should have thought more about this before we started going out. If we break up the Daily Mail is going to find out my laptop has been filled with German dungeon porn isn't it?"

Anthea smiled and nodded.

Greg flashed Anthea a smile that made her want to melt. "I had better be on my best behaviour then." His voice purred. 

Greg took another drink of tea and then the laughter left his face. Suddenly the pieces had fallen into place. 

Mycroft had even managed to get a little extra protection for Molly from the Met police tonight. Oh that cheeky bastard was good. 

"Sorry. Just remembered I gotta send this text."  
Greg then pulled out his phone and texted Anthea.   
[SMS: Your boss is circling her like a shark my guess is keeping someone away. And you are helping. How much danger is she in? ]

Sliding his phone back into his pocket Greg tried to soften his features again. 

"Molly. You said Mycroft has been hanging around a lot lately. While I give you he can be a bit strange and his interpersonal skills are lacking, when he is around you can relax. You are safe. I promise you he won't let anything happen to you under his watch. Besides, I'd be happy to find something illegal in the boot of his car if he annoys you too much." Greg winked at Molly and both women burst out laughing at the thought. 

"Say. Have you heard from Tom recently? Any idea what he's been up to since you broke his heart?" Greg took another drink of tea his eyes focused on Molly to watch her reaction to the question.


	12. Chapter 12

Mousy-miss-Molly:

 

The name pierced Molly's ear and all of her laughter and smiles were now long forgotten, as though they never occurred. Her eyes lowered to stare nowhere in particular and her hands set her drink down carefully. She kept her gaze away from the couple beside her as her mouth began to dry and words could not form. She thought through her vocabulary carefully but no words would come out. Not even a simple "no".

After a long, dreary silence and glossy stare at the center of the table, Molly shut her eyes and shook her head, breathing out a nearly unheard "Not at all" before bringing her tea to her lips. She shook her head again before gulping down the remaining tea from her cup then began to gather her things. "We don't really talk. The last time I saw him or spoke to him was when he moved out. Even then, we didn't speak directly."

She cracked her eyes open slightly, gripping the handle of her bag tightly for a moment in memory of that night. How tense the air felt, nearly choking her. The heat unbearable and the boxes that piled at the door along with some clothes and furniture. How she sat on the only couch she owned between the two, her legs pulled up on it while her hands played with her father's necklace. The footsteps she heard go up and down the stairs to his car and back until they stopped in front of her. She remembered how cold the spare key was and how warm his lips were against hers for a final kiss. Then, how the door slammed shut and the car nearly sped off with another person in the passenger's seat. It tore her, even now. Every step she counted was memorized; the rhythm of the boxes going in and out. All of it, fresh in her mind and haunting her every night as she laid alone on just one side of the bed while the other remained cold and untouched. Not even Toby dared to venture over there, not that he liked Tom much anyway. Not like she herself liked Tom much anyway, too.

Was she sad because she missed him? And regretted ever allowing for him to leave? Or did it hurt her because she knew she broke off a nearly perfect relationship for a man who, to this day, still hadn't even remotely shown interest in her? She was alone but it itched at the back of her mind rather irritatingly that, for all the suffering she had dealt with to impress a less than formidable man, it was all on her own accord. She let Sherlock run her choices; rule her love life (or, more like lack there of); She let the 1 in a million chances of being with him decide the fate of her relationships. And now, here she was, just as lonely as ever with a horrifying relationship status and nothing to show for it. She hadn't bothered to enjoy the time she had and the people in her lives. No, she was focused on mooning over a man in a silly get up that, now, was just a child for her to watch. Her life was passing by and it took her all until now to realize the horrible wreck she had caused for herself. All because of a silly fantasy. And now, somewhere in a safe place in her mother's home, sat a wedding dress that will never be worn and a box of child's clothing never to be gifted. And that is what haunted her most. How close she could have been to a normal, content life.

But, was content enough?

Molly took a deep breath and forced a pursed smile on her face as she stood up, her chair pushed back by the force of her stance alone. "Thank you for tea, Greg, really. I'll buy next time." She slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to Anthea with a quirked smile. "I'll talk to you lot soon. Wouldn't want to keep you from your date. Text me sometime, Anthea. We could go shopping sometime or on another jog perhaps." 

She stepped around her seat and pushed it in, lifting her coat right afterwards and folding it over her arms before throwing her cup and plate with a remaining half eaten peche mignon, into the waste bin. She then turned away and began for the cafe's exit, pulling out her small, orange and yellow dotted umbrella when she noticed the downpour raging outside still.


	13. Chapter 13

Wetislandinthenorthatlantic:

 

Greg watched Molly. He deeply regretted asking the question about Tom but given her reaction his instincts told him there was something there that either he was missing or Molly wasn't saying. 

As Molly got up to leave, Greg shoot a glance to Anthea to confirm what he was about to do. Anthea gave a small nod and Greg raced after Molly and followed her out the door. 

His umbrella shielded them both while Molly was working to get her tiny, cheap umbrella to open up. 

"Molly. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you like I did. Listen. Is there something else that is bothering you about Tom? If you tell me in confidence I will never tell her ... or her boss. Promise. " Greg let out a sigh. 

"I'm worried about you. Do you want me to drive you home? Make sure you're safe? It's just a play. I can miss it. Won't be the first time. Won't be the last. Anthea won't mind." 

Greg looked at Molly and waited for an answer. 

Mousy-miss-Molly:  
Molly heaved heavily, turning to face Greg, her coat holding arm pressed tightly against her stomach while the other hand gripped the umbrella's stem tightly. Her eyes wandered off to the side, her tongue pressed to her cheek and her lips puckered a bit. After a moment's silence, she slowly raised her eyes to him, her foot tapping slightly. "Greg, I-"

She choked, her eyes now averted back to the side then sliding towards the ground, her lips pursed as the lump in her throat swelled anxiously. She lifted her coat arm and rubbed under her swelling eyes, her face now flushing slightly and her ears and cheeks burning. "It's nothing. Nothing of importance to you or them. If there were something, I would tell you. You know I would. I haven't anything to hide nor anything to speak about. So please, don't worry so much about it. What's done is done and I know you have good intentions."

The brunette heaved another sigh and shut her eyes, scrunching her brows a bit with a small, pained groan. For a moment, she stood in the throbbing of her head and swelling of her eyes, completely alone and in thought of the night they broke it off all the way to the night he left. No, there was nothing regarding Greg or Scotland Yard or even Mr. Government Official was concerned about. Just a bit of a domestic and...

She snapped her eyes open and turned to Greg, the water forming in her ducts seeping through just a little. "Go. Anthea's waiting. You'd be surprised just how much she complains when you two have to cancel a date. And a play is hard enough to come by and have time for. Enjoy yourselves and don't worry. If I remember anything, I'll let you know. But honestly, I've told you everything. I mean, besides the private stuff but-" She quirked a bit of a smile. "It's nothing. Thank you for your concern. I can handle myself. I have for years before I met you and I'll continue to do so. If you're still worried, I'll give you a text or call when I get home. If I yield a cab, it should take me ten or so minutes. If I walk, about twenty. So I would shoot for fifteen."

Once opened, after much fiddling with, her umbrella was extended away from under Greg's and Molly stepped under it, giving her friend a less than reassuring smile and wave.


	14. Chapter 14

Wetislandinthenorthatlantic:

Greg let out a sigh as he watched Molly walk off into the rainy London night. He went back to the table where Anthea was sitting texting on her Blackberry. 

"She didn't want me to take her home. There is something not right but she's not saying." Greg looked at his watch. "Come on. We're going to be late if we don't get a move on."

 

Mousy-miss-Molly:

Anthea hadn't given a glance as Greg spoke. Instead, she finished up her message and stood to her feet, releasing a hand from her phone to push her chair in carefully and lift her coat up from the back. 

"I suppose that will give Mr.Holmes and his brother enough warrant to file through her history and give us the opportunity to view camera files." she mumbled, closing the message on her phone and slipping the device into her pant pocket. 

"I'm worried about her, Greg. She hasn't eaten well and she's become sluggish. But what really has my attention and I think you noticed it too, is how jittery and nervous she is. She won't look at us. Her eyes are everywhere else; expecting something. And if Tom is what caused that, we have to gain her trust again. And if that takes all of Mycroft's men and women, then so it will be. Something is brewing; something really bad."

She turned to face Greg, folding her arms under her coat with her brows pinched just a tad and her lips quirked downward. Her shoulders dropped a bit and her attention turned to the window, watching the rain fall. "I think tonight, we need to crack into some video files. As much as I hate when our date nights turn into work, after what we just witnessed, we wouldn't be doing justice to leave her like that. I'll call Sherlock in and maybe he can talk to her with John? Perhaps a case we can give them to take to her flat."

Her gaze met Greg's reflection as he stepped in to hold her around her waist and shoulder. She let a hand free to reach around and take him by his waist, her arm just under his. "And I'll make sure Mycroft doesn't interfere tonight."


	15. Chapter 15

Greg smiled down at Anthea. For some reason he had this vision in his head of Anthea holding a straining dog leed and the animal in question bucking and charging was none other than Mycroft Holmes. 

"I don't want to know what you have up your sleeve to keep him at home on a night like this," Greg winked. "Come on darling. We've got work to do." 

//

The room was dark save for the blue-ish glow given off by the screens. On the desk were four monitors. Only two were switched on. Greg and Anthea were in Anthea's office. The access codes had arrived while still en route which meant they now had access to the last six months of video footage for Sector Six --the area of London where Molly and Tom both lived and worked. If any footage of the major train stations or Heathrow were needed a higher request must be granted. This would of course be possible but would take a bit longer. 

Greg stretched his hands over his head and arched his back against the designer office chair. They might look expensive but they are bloody uncomfortable he thought. His eyes didn't leave the monitor. 

"Hey babe pass the Chicken Chow-Mein." Anthea passed over the nearest Chinese take away container to Greg. 

Taking the container in one hand, he expertly used chopsticks to move the food from container to mouth. 

"What is it? Why do I get the feeling it is staring us in the face?" These soft words were spoken by Greg -- begging, pleading and demanding all at the same time. 

Greg's eyes kept focused on the nearest screen as he watched Molly's relationship with Tom enacted backwards. Happiness, make-up sex, fight. Greg was bemused at how a life played forward or backwards still had sex sandwiched between the good and bad parts. 

Suddenly Greg was wildly pointing to the screen nearest him -- "Anthea! There it is! Look!"

Greg hit the stop and rewind on the keypad so he could show Anthea exactly what he had just seen.


	16. Chapter 16

Anthea's hands immediately paused the video, her legs scooting her closer to the computer screen. She squinted her eyes and used the mouse's scrolling wheel to zoom into the apartment's location. Once the location was at optimum range, she moved her head forward, her eyes moving between the vehicles and people surrounding the flat. With a frown slowly growing and her brows scrunching with some confusion, she muttered numbers to herself before sitting up and turning to face Greg.

"In all the months caught on tape, I haven't seen that many people enter the building." She stated, whipping back around to point at, who she believed to be, Tom, in the frame, closing the window to the kitchen and pulling the curtain over it. "And I have never seen them cover any window up in broad daylight. Look at the upstairs windows and even the attic window. All tinted and covered."

She reached for her mouse instantly afterward, moving the frame a few clicks to Molly's entrance on screen. She slowed the tape, watching as Molly entered the flat in a rush with someone behind her, nearly shoving her inside. The person then looked around before shutting the door to the flat and the screen returned to the peaceful, quiet scenery that surrounded the couple's flat. Anthea growled lowly, attempting to reverse the tape to take a well enough look at the man's description but only managed to get an idea of a possible scaring on his eye and dark hair. Nothing detailed or enough to match to someone on a database without extreme measures (of which she could not afford considering it's involvement with Mycroft Holmes).

"Damn" she murmured, playing the tape once again to further the viewing. Upon further viewing, twelve hours after the men had arrived at the flat and forced Molly inside, the tape showed no sign of change, not even in time.

Anthea tilted her head to the side slightly, rewinding the tape then playing it through the twelve hours quickly, her teeth gritting against one another. "The tape. It's looped starting after she entered the flat. Look at the shadows! They haven't moved. And that same red cooper has passed nearly four times. Someone's tapped the system. Twelve hours of footage and no evidence for an interrogation. They knew; they knew all too well we'd go back. I doubt this had been done the day of the footage."

She pushed herself back and stood immediately, her heels clacking away as she neared the piles of video footage that sat in the far corner of the office.

"This was inside work, Greg. Or extremely well played outer. The date on that video was March 20th, correct? Just barely a month and a half before the break-up. Something happened between the footage date and the break-up. And if Molly isn't telling us, it must be something enormous. Molly wouldn't hide something from us if we could avoid it; she's smarter than that."

Anthea began to pace the floor, her hands crossed over her chest as she began to murmur to herself a sequence of numbers and letters before returning her conversation to Greg.

"What do you remember of her in March? Did she even talk to you? Please try to remember because I'm drawing a blank to whether or not I had spoken with her then. I have no phone record of it and if something strange were wrong with her and I saw her in person, I would notice." 

She continued pacing, this time, with agitation as she forced herself to recall every speck of information she could of the months before until, suddenly, it hit her. She stopped in her tracks and turned on her heels to face Greg, her stomach clenching as memories of March came.

"I was in Bolivia in March. I couldn't have spoken with her. I came back to missed calls and messages of her crying because they were fighting. I remember seeing her and she told me about the break-up a few weeks after my return. The only person who could have spoken to her then was Sherlock."

Anthea stepped towards Greg, her hands reach out for his to hold. "But, he would tell us...wouldn't he?"


	17. Chapter 17

SMS: Sorry it'd so late buddy. Any chance I can come talk to you about a case? -Greg  
SMS: Must be urgent? -SH  
SMS: Yea. Kinda. -g  
SMS: Come. -SH

Greg arrived at Sherlock's flat with a file folder in his hand. He looked down at it while he climbed the stairs. I wonder how long I can keep the game up before he figures it out. The file contained a cold case -- all the leads had run dry, or been investigated and no solution had been found. 

This particular case had nothing to do with anything. He picked it from the pile because the dates worked. He needed an excise to talk to Sherlock about last March and hopefully Molly. 

Pushing the door to Sherlock's flat open Greg was hit by a very strange smell. "Sherlock, what the hell is that smell?" Greg scanned the room and didn't see anyone. Giggles were coming from the bedroom. 

"Sherlock! Are you okay? It smells like you are passing an electrical current through a pumpkin pie. Sherlock! Come out!"

Sherlock casually made his way from the bedroom to the living room where Greg was already sitting down. 

"Sorry mate. Looks like you are entertaining." Greg gave Sherlock a wink. "It's not Molly is it?" Greg asked in a whisper.


	18. Chapter 18

Mousy-miss-Molly:

Sherlock tussled his curls a bit, looking back at his bedroom door with a head shake. "No, not Molly. Why would it be Molly?"

He furrowed his brows and whipped his head to glance at Greg, his eyes scrunching as he began to figure out the other man's motive.

"Why are you here, inspector? I haven't done anything illegal in awhile and nothing interesting has come up. I've been forced to keep myself entertained. With experiments, that is."

He jumped onto his own chair, pulling his robe over his chest before using his hands to rest his lips against. His eyes continued searching the detective inspector, ruling out probable causes and notions he brought on until he was interrupted by the shuffling in the backroom to the bathroom. He peered up for a brief second then returned his gaze to Greg, clearing his throat.

"Now then. You said you had something for me then, yeah? What is it and don't bore me with details." 

The detective watched as Greg sifted through his files, pulling papers out with the least bit of "boring detail", as Sherlock would put it, and "ah-hah"-ed when he found the sheet. The sheet was then thrust into Sherlock's hands and the detective arched a brow curiously as he began to look over the sheet.

March. What happened in March? Could he recall? Not much. March was a dull time of year. Nothing fascinating- although, yes. That was when Molly was broken up or something like that. The details hazed a bit and to be honest, he hadn't really heard much from her since the wedding and not much of her since his brother went to find her. Ah, yes, of course. A light bulb when off.

Without lifting his gaze, he grumbled something a bit chilling to the detective inspector. "So, Gavin. How is Molly doing? I haven't seen her in some time and she usually likes to bother me with some body or drug case she couldn't ordinarily figure. I have a feeling that's your sole purpose of being here though I'm not quite sure why considering my brother seems to have her under wraps for the both of us and some but do enlighten me on what you need me for besides this pathetic case you've just handed me. It was the grandmother clearly."

With a self satisfied smirk, the dark hair male leaned forward and dropped the sheet onto Greg's lap before returning comfortably into his seat.


	19. Chapter 19

As he looked at Sherlock a deep sigh escaped before he could stop it. It was late. Greg was tired. He had actually been looking forward to the theatre believe it or not. By all accounts he should be curled up on his couch with Anthea watching a little mindless telly before bed. 

The detective had already seen through his flimsy plan, no harm then in just asking outright. 

Greg took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hands. He could tell Sherlock knew something. And he desperately needed Sherlock to tell him sooner rather than later. Greg had left Anthea on the phone with Mycroft. Mycroft was keeping his distance ... for now. 

"When I asked you before if Molly was here I was kidding. I saw Molly earlier tonight and that's why I'm here. Because of Molly."

Greg's head turned to look in the direction of the bedroom as he heard a series of loud pops followed by female laughter. He then looked back at Sherlock. It was clear Sherlock felt he was missing something happening behind the closed door. Greg decided to use this to his advantage and jumped in with both feet. 

"Look Sherlock. Molly's in bad shape. Poor thing is terrified of her own shadow at the moment. Seems like something happened to her last March. Something that changed everything."

Sherlock was now staring intently at Greg. Sherlock raised his eyebrow indicating that he wanted Greg to keep going. 

"You're right. I can tell by the way your brother is acting she is obviously in some sort of danger. He is clearly working his butt off to keep someone away from her. Or keep her safe. Or something."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak. Greg cut him off. "No chance. I will not ask your brother what is going on. Molly is so fragile at the moment. If Mycroft knew the state she was actually in he'd go mental. He doesn't do compassion. You of all people know that."

The sound of breaking glass came from the bedroom followed by, "Oopsie! Clumsy me!"

"Come on Sherlock." Greg said through gritted teeth. "I want to go home to a drink and some telly and I'm sure you want to get back to your experiment. Tell me what you know so I can help Molly. Please."


	20. Chapter 20

He cringed at the shattering glass and rolled his head a bit with eyes shut tight and teeth grit for a moment to compose himself before shooting his eyes towards Greg. Sherlock was searching his mind, going through March with all his (willing) strength while everything slowed around him. He shifted around for a moment, retracing his steps. How many encounters with Molly had he had that month? Perhaps 6; definitely no more than 7. What had they done? Discussed a few cases; interrogated a few bystanders; had "lunch" at his flat with John and Mary. Nothing unusual- except.

"I can't say I know what it is you are looking for, detective inspector. But I can tell you that my meetings with Molly in March, although mostly a haze considering it was probably unimportant, were a bit tense. She did slap me a few good times and afterward we did our case on an assassin of which my brother is currently on the look for. During the case, she did seem rather distant and hesitant on trying to locate him or her. I do recall her hiding something. I don't know what or why, but clearly it was significant to the case or else she wouldn't have kicked me out of the lab so quickly as she did. My suggestion is to link her to the crime in question. Clearly she knows more than I."

He paused and looked to the door before stepping closer to Greg, his eyes sharp and attentive.

"If someone has anything on her - blackmail; a threat - it will be easy to trigger it. Molly hasn't much to hide and therefore is terrible when it comes to hiding it. If you can trigger a response of what it is she is hiding, with a few pushes here and there, I'm sure you will have her spewing information. But, to you lot, that seems inhumane. I'd suggest breaking into her flat and searching but, again, you'd find it "unprecedented". You didn't come here for my suggestions and thoughts, you came for my help and help you will receive but know that if I'm to be assisting you, we do it under my terms. This is a case I have been dancing around the edges on since Moriarty and if Molly is tied to the case, then that is more motivation to continue on the search. "

He paused as the voice in the backroom began to hum and sing softly, the steps they took rhythmic as they danced around the room, cleaning up shards of glass. Sherlock sighed with agitation and stepped away from Greg towards the door.

"Contact me tomorrow, Greg. I'll find my way to her flat and we will commence." 

As the detective reached the door, he looked over his shoulder to his companion, his eyebrows furrowed. "And, as far as I can tell, someone's keeping tabs on her. Someone is watching her every step and making sure she does not fall out of place. She's a scapegoat; a pawn in this matter and the stakes are high. It seems as though we haven't much time before something slips up and when it does, she must be under protection at all cost. This person knows her well. Very, very well." 

He looked up at the inspector then the ground before flinging the door open to his room then slamming it shut once he entered.  
\--

SMS: What did he say? -A  
SMS: Mycroft's patience is growing thin and I don't think I can keep a charade much longer -A


	21. Chapter 21

Greg stared at Sherlock's bedroom door and let out a deep sigh before he texted Anthea. 

SMS: Got it. He says to follow-up on the Moriarty case. Also Mycroft's assassin case. He's busy for the rest of the night but can go with me to Molly's tomorrow. 

SMS: Also suggested being a bit heavy handed with Molly to force the issue. Just don't know if I can stomach it. 

Greg's eyes flicked from his phone to the shut door as sounds of loud laughter came from the bedroom. Obviously whatever experiment that was going on was successful. 

Greg sighed as he got up and made his way to the door. He was lost in thought. All of his actions were automatic and his mind was free to contemplate what Sherlock has said. 

Mycroft was tracking an assassin.   
Molly is hiding something.   
The Moriarty case.   
Someone who knows Molly very well it watching her.   
Molly will crack if pushed.   
She must be protected at all costs. 

Greg's phone binged and he was half-way down the stairs before he let himself come back to reality enough to acknowledge it. There was no urgency as he took it out out of his pocket. He was sure the message was from Anthea. Who else would be texting him?

Greg froze on the stairway. He could feel the blood draining from his face as he read the message. 

It was from Molly.


	22. Chapter 22

When Molly returned to her flat, she looked to the camera's that surrounded her home, not directly, but, visibly enough to give whoever may have been watching her a sort of signal almost before turning to her door. When she was faced with the large block in her path which kept her that much further from a warm bed and steaming cup of hot chocolate, her eyes widened and she gave a less than audible gasp. She took a step back to examine it carefully, biting down on her bottom lip.

Her door was open part way, being held open by a black door-stopper and the lights inside were all on inside.

Molly's heart dropped and she felt her body go numb as she reached for the door handle. Her features began to become sluggish and weary as she herself swayed a little, on the brink of fainting from both fatigue and a pinch of fright. When her hand was folded along the golden knob, she waited. She wasn't sure what it was she was waiting for, but she waited, silence consuming her and the cold London air sending goosebumps along her arms and neck. What was she waiting for? What was she waiting for? What was she-

She then came to, her arm forcing the door open as the sound of footsteps were heard just behind the slab. Whoever stood behind the door was on the ground now and groaning in pain. Molly made a quick entrance and slammed her door shut before dropping her bag beside the person. Her eyes searched her flat, noting anything that may have been out of place, not that she could say anything for sure considering how forgetful she is and how curious little Toby was.

Once she was fairly certain she had done a thorough look-through, she turned to the person beneath her, her brows scrunching at the sight of the clearly aching man beneath her. She stepped off to the side of him and knelt down to his side, reaching for her phone in her back pocket. But, just part-way through her actions, a sudden pang in her neck paralyzed her movements and darkness began to consume her sight. Not fast enough though for just as she was blacking out, a pair of brown Allen Edmonds touched her cheek and moved her face upward and a blond curled man grinned at her, shaking his head as he dropped hers back to the ground.

The darkness took her and the last words she heard were "Oh Molly, you naive little girl."

\--

It felt like hours or maybe even days when Molly came to and her head both spun and sent an agonizing pressure to her temples as she lifted it from its slumping position. She opened her eyes slowly and jerked back to fully awaken herself. However, she soon regretted ever doing so.

Her flat had been ransacked and defiled. Papers torn and used as torches to burn her floors and furnishings. Plants were over turned, tables and chairs broken and thrown against the walls. Her fridge was overturned and her lamp fixtures were pulled and swung; her paintings destroyed and her valuables clearly taken from her.

She stood slowly, her hands knotted against her chest as she felt the most aching pain push against both her head and chest. She stepped around glass and burnt rug, examining her shattered windows and unhinged doors. She felt her eyes water as she ventured further into her flat, noting torn family portraits and ruined artifacts from countries her father visited and gifted to her. The voiced echoed in her mind, playing louder and louder, nearly forcing her against the wall with a pounding in her head as she reached her room. The door was shut and she was managing to come to as a thought danced at the edge of her mind: Should she open it? Did she dare?

Molly took a deep, shaken breath then stood up straight, her hand taking a hold of the door knob and swinging the door wide open. Her knees then grew weak and he nearly burst into full sobs, dropping down when he took a single step forward. Her room was untouched and Toby slept silently and peacefully on the edge of her bed. It was a warning, her kitchen and living room, she figured, forcing herself to her feet before allowing herself to search the room to make sure there were no stowaways hiding in the cracks and ins and outs of the bedroom. Once she was finished searching, she stood at her vanity mirror, taking in every cut and bruise she had acquired while lost in her subconscious before taking a seat at the edge of her bed beside Toby.

A warning. This was all a warning.

Her eyes grew blank and dull as she allowed her body to go on autopilot, sending a text to the people she needed the most at that moment.

John, Sherlock, Anthea, and Greg.  
\--

SMS: Are you free?   
SMS: I could use some help with rearranging my flat if you could spare a moment.


	23. Chapter 23

Greg felt a steering pain in his left shoulder. Years ago, when he was still in the field he had been attached by a knife-wielding yob. Even now it still gave him gyp every once in a while. The fact that Sherlock had just flown down the stairs and clipped Greg's shoulder was more than enough indication of the sudden seriousness of the situation but the white-hit pain just seemed to make it more real. 

Sherlock's breathing was unsteady as he shouted at Greg almost the entire journey. Most of it was directing Greg through the back doubles to halve the usual travel time to Molly's flat. Between the shouting Greg called for back-up. 

Pulling into Molly's road Sherlock and Greg spotted John's car parked discreetly a short distance from Molly's flat. Sherlock leapt out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop. Anthea appeared out of nowhere and came up behind Greg. She was so close he could feel her breath on his neck. 

The three of them stood in front of Molly's door listening. Nothing. Off in the distance was the wail of police cars -- headed right for them. 

Greg took a deep breath and pushed the door. It swung open easily. One could almost believe the three-held breaths expelling had opened the door. Anthea gasped while both men uttered various profanities when the three walked gingerly into Molly's utterly destroyed kitchen and living room. 

Muffled voices could be heard. 

"John! John! Is that you?" Called out Sherlock as he slowly spun around taking in the chaos. 

"Yes. Sherlock! Yes. In Molly's bedroom."

Sherlock led the way to Molly's bedroom and the three exchanged a look before opening the door that said // if this is what they do to her flat what have they done to Molly? // Sherlock steeled himself as he pushed open the door. 

There she was lying on the bed covered with the quilt she usually kept draped across the foot of her bed. She was pale and her eyes couldn't settle. John was sitting on the edge of the bed his hand holding her wrist gently. 

Sherlock let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. // John is taking Molly's pulse. She looks ... She could be in much worse shape. // Even though he was not a religious man Sherlock offered up a silent prayer of thanks. It could have been so much worse. 

"John. How is she?" It was Greg who spoke first. Sherlock was still frozen to the spot staring at Molly. 

John sighed, "She is in shock obviously. Small bump on the head which she probably got as she fell to the floor. The most worrying thing is the puncture mark to her neck. I'm not sure what stuff they used to knock her out."

 

"Ketalar." Came a voice from behind them. Mycroft Holmes swept into the room. Sherlock watched as Mycroft slid this right thumb between his second and third fingers. A tell-tale sign of how nervous and unsettled by these occurrences he actually was. The others in the room would not see anything but the powerful man himself come to save the day. Sherlock could see before him the man who had been sick with worry the entire journey thinking he was going to arrive to see an ambulance driving away slowly -- terrified that due to his own basic incompetence he had lost her before he had even had a chance to start. 

"Unfortunately this is not the first time I have encountered this sort of "warning" before. Ketalar is their knock out drug of choice. If you would all be so kind as to give Miss Hoooer and I a moment."

"Look she is in no state to be interrogated Mycroft," John hissed as he stood up. 

"Fear not John. I have no intention of beginning the questioning now. She is in far too fragile a state for that to occur for quite some time. Please. Leave us be." Mycroft's tone was soft. 

The door closed gently behind Sherlock who had been the last to leave. 

Turning away from the door, Mycroft slowly made his way over to Molly. She was staring at him and blinking. He forced his expression to relax. "May I sit?" Mycroft looked at where John had been perched not a minute ago. 

Molly gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

Sitting down next to her Mycroft sighed and looked at Molly in the eyes. "You now know what grave danger you are in. Let me protect you."


	24. Chapter 24

Molly made no hesitation in her actions and words, sitting up nearly instantly at his words and bringing the taller male down to her eye level by his jacket collar.

"Mr.Holmes, you listen very carefully to what I am going to tell you. Understood?"

She awaited a nod then continued with granted permission.

"I am not a damsel who needs protection. I am a woman who needs to be taken away. You cannot protect me unless you have rescued me and trust me, you have only reached the mouth of this nightmare. He knows more than you give him credit for and I know things that could make you fall to your knees by just the word of it. Scoff all you'd like but if you truly feel the need to help me, drop the government official crap and take my words seriously." 

Her hands shook with her hushed words while her eyes wandered her room in search of the microphones she knew were hiding. How long could she continue this game for them before she was put out of her misery, she wondered as she slowly returned her gaze at the man she held hostage in her hands. She then swallowed hard and released her grip, sinking back against the pillows as her head spun and throbbed with a nauseating pain which was only worsened by her churning stomach and aching muscles and bruises.

With a soft sigh, she shut her eyes momentarily, her brows scrunching hard as she fought back the urge to scream and sob and fall apart in front of the country's official care-taker. A silence fell over the two for a brief second or two until she shuffled upward somewhat and managed to open her eyes.

"They're listening to us, Mr.Holmes. They're counting every step we take. And they're making sure I do what I'm supposed to do. I haven't been following up with their orders and this is how they remind me of my place in their game. I want more than anything to just be locked up behind stone walls until they're gone and I can return to a content and oblivious life as I did not too long ago. But if you want to catch them and help me, you'll keep me close by and you'll work with what I say. I will not be put in captivity because I can guarantee they will blow through your forces. No, you need me almost as much as I need you. And as much as I wish I didn't need to bother you with this, you've over stepped your boundaries." 

She looked to her window, crossing her arms over her stomach, leaning forward against her forearm as she searched through the street. 

"They're not after me. They're using me to get to Sherlock who will get to Anthea who will get to you. And through that, Mr.Holmes, they will get to England. I can't say much more but-" She face him and reached over to take his hand into hers. "I'm just as scared for you as I am for myself. I've only ever had my encounters with you during Sherlock's disappearing act and I still feel much more involved with you than I should. I avoided you to keep this from happening and yet here we are. So, you tell me. Will you trust me and let help you or will you lock me away as bait for them?"


	25. Chapter 25

Mycroft tried to understand the butterflies in his stomach. 

Were the butterflies due to fear? The situation Mycroft had found himself in was vastly more complex than he had anticipated. Mycroft did know who was behind this attack on Molly and did understand the ultimately he and England were in danger. It was a surprise that "they" had been so careless as to let Molly know so much. Or perhaps that too was part of their plan. This possibility sounded all the alarm bells. 

Were the butterflies due to Molly holding his hand? --Molly was holding his hand.-- Mycroft tried to focus on the danger and not the soft, warm hand that had easily slipped into his. Her hand was so small. He knew if he thought about her too much and how he longed to ensure her safety he was going to make the wrong move. 

Mycroft 's first instinct was to make the call, have Molly whisked out of London -- now. He could give her a new life, protect her forever. It could start tonight. But he knew far too well that the higher the security the higher price, and he would lose her forever. This price was too high he wasn't willing to pay it. 

Were the butterflies because Molly had just admitted that she too had felt something the handful of times they had met. It was a mere flutter of something but ... perhaps. 

"You are very brave. And very astute Molly. You are correct. As much as I want to put you in a beautiful ivory tower and protect you that will cause them to fight even harder."

Mycroft sighed and paused for a moment. 

"Tonight you will move you into John's house. Know that I am tempted to move you into a wing of my home, but again that would be seen as too antagonistic. The surveillance on John's house is already at level 3, it can be raised to level 2 with no one, not even them, noticing."

"I'm sure John will be happy for you to stay for as long as necessary. Should you wish a bit more privacy while your house is being restored I shall make one of the near-by safe houses available to you. Just say the word."

Mycroft was happy to see Molly ever-so-slightly relax with this news. Mycroft continued on. 

"I agree that it would be beneficial for many reasons if you were in my employ. Tomorrow I will have your superiors alerted that you have been reassigned to the medical research team in the a Foreign and Commonwealth Office. That way I will have a access to you and you will have access to me ... should the need arise."

Mycroft suddenly realised that he had been absentmindedly stroking Molly's hand with his thumb while they had been speaking. He stopped abruptly. Mycroft looked down at their hands entwined, then back up at Molly. 

"I trust you will be happy with these arrangements." Mycroft looked at Molly expectantly.


End file.
